Flight of the Evangelion
by brassmonki
Summary: Imagine the eva. An indestructible device, capable of laying waste to entire nations. Now imagine it's a plane. An A/U fic set in a world where the angel threat is global, the eva's are jets, and the children are a bit older.


Disclaimer: I don't own nothing. Except Art, and I'm paranoid about him. Well can you blame me? Ever since his debut I've seen two new pilots, both 6th child accs, one called Archoveic (But they call me Arc), and one named Artair. Guess I'm just paranoid.  
  
Due to me being confused over the whole US Air Force promotion tree, I'm sticking to the good ol' RAF  
  
Flight of the Evangelion  
  
Chapter 1   
  
Two planes. Side by side. Hurtling along, just under the speed of sound, skirting the tips of the clouds as they flew. They were in perfect unison, their wing tips barely inches apart, an amazing display of precision flying. If either of the wings dipped slightly, or one pilot made the wrong move, they would cease to be planes, and become a mere heavy object falling to the ground.  
  
Pilot Officer Arthur Cooper yawned in his helmet. Today's flight had been uneventful, just the routine way point following that had been the bane of his piloting career. The sun was starting to set. Golden light was pouring across the clouds, and he and his buddy were just messing around with the planes. He was vaguely aware the guys back at the control tower were getting upset by their lack of regard for procedure. But he no longer cared.  
  
He had signed up to be a pilot on the tail end of the war, and had managed to make it out of training just in time for his job to be made redundant. The war ended before he could even fly his first sortie. And that had been it for his career. Now he was stuck doing patrols day in day out for some out of the way research facility in Devon. It was depressing. Apparently it had been a state of the art plane being researched here, but the project had been abandoned or something stupid like that. Whatever, all it meant was another military facility that had to be guarded from a non-existent enemy.  
  
Top of his class, taking every single extra credit duties he could get, desperately trying to get the top spots in the active squadrons. And then there was peace. One piece of signed paper had managed to destroy his career before it even fired up it's jets. All those years of   
  
He flicked on the comm. "Hey Jimmy? Wanna play tag with the planes a little? God knows we've got more than enough fuel to make it back to base."  
  
"Hold up Art, I gotta sig- damn it's gone again." Art looked side long at his wingman. He had picked up the nick name when he was a kid, about fourteen. To this day he never understood why they called him Art. He guessed it was because it was quicker to type than his full name.  
  
At this distance he could see Jimmy hit his radar read out in his cockpit. Ah, his old mate Jimmy Watson. They had not been in basic with each other, Jimmy had been in a few pieces of action before the war ended. Due to his experience he really should have been the point man and not the wing man, but Jimmy was a genuine good guy. He never had much interest in furthering his career, and would probably turn down anything that took him away from his beloved planes.   
  
"You know Seiya's gonna kill you if you break that screen again."  
  
"Bah! If he doesn't want me busting up his precious plane he should make sure the damn thing works before he lets me fly it. Damn grease monkey..."  
  
"Just saying is all..."  
  
"And there it is again. Signal keeps appearing and disappearing."  
  
"You gonna call it in?"  
  
"Dunno, it could just be a sensor ghost."  
  
"... Jimmy?..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Sensor ghost?"   
  
"... s'rry..."   
  
"Have you been reading sci-fi pilot books again?"  
  
"Just a little one..."  
  
"We'll discuss this with the fire when we get back to base. Now call in the contact." Then again, he did have the annoying habit of reading books about sci-fi pilots. That was pretty much Jimmy, always shooting for that spot that was unreachable. He had wanted to transfer into the Royal Space Initiative, but the RSI had been disbanded as a result of the peace treaties. The only way to live his dream now would be to transfer to one of the specialist UN wings that had begun to spark like wild fire. But it was harder to get into one of those groups than to achieve orbit with a hand glider. You may do it, but you would not be able to stick around long enough to enjoy it.  
  
It was a damn stupid system they had worked out. No single government could be trusted to do simple things like astrological research, without slapping a nuke to it and pointing it at their trade partners. So, the higher ups had reasoned, give all countries restrictions on what they could do, and use the UN as a sort of global initiative. But that meant that a lot of the people around the planet missed out. Think about it. The entire world competing for a hundred or so spots in a shady organisation that would fire you for putting the wrong coffee in the machine. To even be considered you needed three doctorates and a Nobel prize.  
  
Jimmy's plane slid a little away from Art's as he called in the contact. He was going to be busy getting yelled at for turning off his long range communicator, and did not want to accidentally bump into his neighbour. Art sighed. Two years of this now. Two years of him and Jimmy just flying the same damn route. He had heard that during the war pilots were rarely on one duty for more than a month. But that was the way things went these days. In a year or two he would resign his commission and go to his fall back flight school plan. After years of way point following it would be a real adventure. But for now, he would follow his route, whilst pissing of his CO by recklessly endangering his plane.  
  
He sighed. Nothing ever happens.  
  
Jimmy's plane exploded next to him. Art cursed and banked hard away from the explosion. "What the bloody hell! Jimmy?!"  
  
There was static.   
  
"Shit. Ops this is Puffin 1, we've just lost Puffin 2, over." Art scanned his radar screen, but there was nothing to indicate what had got Jimmy. No little blip, not even a flicker.  
  
"Ops to Puffin 1, hostile in area, over."  
  
"Puffin 1 to Ops, no shit. Tell me where he is!"  
  
"Ops to Puffin 1, we cannot verify the targets loc-" the rest of the message was lost as gun fire spat down at Art's plane. He rolled to the right, applying his rudder to bring his plane into a smooth barrel roll. His shoved his throttle right down, the roll and the decreased thrust slowing him down. An object whooshed past him, rattling his cockpit canopy. 'Oh no, you are not going to get away.'  
  
He punched his throttle wide open, pushing his engines to the limit. Within seconds he had broken the sound barrier and was going hell for leather to catch up with the distant dot that was the plane. He flipped his arming switch for his pursuit missiles, and fired off as soon as he got a good tone. The missile streaked out, mercilessly hunting down its target.   
  
The plane he was chasing seemed to pull a one-eighty degree turn on the spot. A quick burst from it's guns silenced the missile, and Art watched as it trained it's guns on him. Out of reflex he pointed his plane toward the ground, narrowly avoiding the volley of fire that threatened to rip open his plane.  
  
He was swallowed up by the clouds, g-forces pulling at him as his plane accelerated into the dive. Bullets whistled past his canopy. 'This is insane... no plane could go as fast as that one is...'  
  
He broke through the clouds, streaking water vapour from his wings. He levelled his craft. A cluster of missiles burst through the cloud directly in front of him. He fired his guns at them, detonating a few and flying through the gap in the cluster. His attacker was behind him again, it's machine guns chattering death at him.  
  
Art grinned, "All right jack, how low can you go..." he rolled his plane on to it's back and pulled hard on the stick, executing a split-s manoeuvre. His opponent was hot on his tail. Art knew that the git could end it anytime soon. It was like he was ... toying with him. Well, if he wanted to play games, Art was happy to oblige.  
  
He pulled his plane up at about twenty metres off the ground, hugging the terrain. His speed began to increase with his proximity to the ground. He looked behind him and gasped. The bastard was mocking him, flying at the same altitude but inverted, so his belly was to the sky. He was so close that Art could finally get a look at it. It looked like nothing he had seen before. The olive green wings were like a single sharply curved crescent, and the grey hull of the craft hung down from the centre, sharpened at the point so that it looked like a beak.  
  
Suddenly, it rolled, and pulled up. Art grinned, 'Heh, lost your taste for combat my friend...'. He looked forward. To see a cliff face approaching him at incredible speed. He slammed the rudder to his left, slightly dipping his wing in to the turn, cutting in the vertical thrusters, the combined manoeuvre slowing his forward motion and carrying him up and over the cliff. As soon as he cleared it, a staccato of shots perforated his hull.  
  
He slammed the throttle forward, even though it was already opened as far as it could go. His engines protested as he sought an escape speed to get away from this demon plane. Without thinking he slid his craft closer to the ground, he was unable to veer off sharply, rapid volleys on both sides of his plane keeping him on his current heading. He checked his fuel gauge. At this rate he had barely three minutes worth of flight time remaining, and that was factoring in a miracle of a one minute landing.  
  
This guy was too good. The plane was just too hot for Art to handle. He felt like he was taking a Sopwith Camel to a Tornado. It was only a matter of time before he was either shot, or he ran out of fuel.   
  
He looked back at the plane chasing him. Art was going flat out, jinking wildly from side to side, whereas he was just sitting there. Just sitting on his tail, like he was waiting for him to make a mistake. 'Asshole wants a clinical kill I guess. Unless he knows I'm running out of fuel...' There was a thought running at the back of his mind, but right now he was too busy trying to make himself less of a target.  
  
His comm. crackled with an unfamiliar voice. It sounded annoyed. "Who the hell is playing tag with my target!" Art grimaced. It was probably one of this guy's buddies come to fight over who got the kill. Which would incidentally be Art. Well, at least it would go down well in the papers. Lone RAF pilot shot down after holding his own against two-  
  
"Gabriel to Kamael, quit fooling around and get that guy." Three other planes. Well, he would be damned if he was going without a fight.  
  
"No problem Gabriel. This one will be easy. Look at it, trying to follow that pitiful excuse for a combat plane." Hmm, things were looking up. At least they were not trying to blow him away. "Who is that poor bastard trying to take on something that outclasses him?"  
  
"Uh, I'm hoping you would be talking to me? Puffin one, poor out-classed bastard running low on fuel with an evil plane behind him."  
  
"Mien gotte not another RAF pilot... Okay, on my signal break to the left. We'll take care of the rest. Kamael out."  
  
Art grinned. Maybe he would get out of this with all five limbs. "Roger Kamael, Puffin 1 out."  
  
Art waited patiently for the signal, still jinking, one eye on his ever dwindling fuel supply, the other searching for his would be rescuers. He saw a scarlet dot streak past him at high altitude, and disappear into the distance.  
  
A few seconds later, he heard the voice bark a warning at him, and banked hard to the left, catching a glimpse of a pack of missiles streaking past him, accompanied by a hail of tracer rounds, intermingling with the missiles exhaust clouds.  
  
---------------------------------------  
  
It was long after the dog fight, in a base outside the outskirts of New Tokyo. The base was the third of it's kind, built primarily as a research and test base, but recently converted into a fully active command centre, serving just four aircraft. Well, three at the moment. But that is a long story, not to be addressed yet. The sun was rising after a long hard day.  
  
There was a red jet on the runway. It's sharp front smoothed out elegantly to a four engine system, glossy lines curving down into angular wings. The cockpit canopy was fitted seamlessly into the front. Steam was venting off it, as though it had been superheated beyond any safe temperature. It rolled forward on it's landing gear, manoeuvring itself slowly off the runway. It came to rest just outside a small half pipe hangar.   
  
A few plane techs scampered out of the hangar carrying various bits of kit, generally grumbling about stupid reckless pilots endangering their planes. A woman marched behind them, a megaphone ready at her side. She rarely used in these days, those under her command usually did what she wanted without her even asking. She wore her brown hair in a ponytail now, a step up, she thought, from the pig tails of her youth. And despite all of her changes, all the ground she had covered since high school, she was still playing the part of class representative. Only now, the class was a bunch of engineers. And she had a megaphone. Never underestimate the power of the megaphone.  
  
The cockpit of the sleek red jet popped open, the canopy sliding up from the body of the jet with the grace of the cat. The woman with the megaphone smiled. She took great pride with her work, and being able to describe such a non-essential function as the canopy open system as having the grace of a cat just made her bask in the glory of a well looked after crate.  
  
As it opened all the way a slim woman clad in a loose fitting red flight suit clambered out of the canopy, almost with as much grace as the canopy release system. She stood on the glossy wing of the jet, and took off her crash helmet. She shook her long red hair out, letting it cascade across her shoulders. She hopped down to the deck and strode up to the brown haired woman with the mega phone. She smiled warmly.  
  
The brown haired woman did not return the smile. "What the hell have you done to my plane?" she asked in a flat voice, her eyes glaring at the pilot.  
  
The red head smirked, "Took it for a spin. Burnt out the jets, popped a few landing gear tires, fried the electronics system, you know, the usual."  
  
The brown haired woman finally cracked a smile, "You know Commander Sohryu, you keep this up I won't let you fly my baby any more."  
  
Wing Commander Sohryu grinned and grabbed her friend around the neck with one arm, "Aww Hikari! You know you can't resist my charms."  
  
Hikari laughed and slid her own arm around the red heads shoulder's, "Come on Asuka, I'll buy you a drink to celebrate your first sortie..." She looked behind her at the work crews. Her commanding officer senses were sounding the slacker alarm. "But I'll be back to make sure the crate's better than factory fresh!" She called back. She was rewarded by a chorus of barely contained groans.  
  
"And don't forget the two coats of wax!" shouted Asuka over her shoulder. No attempt was even made to contain that groan. The two friends laughed and made their way into the half pipe hangar. The engineers would never really wax the plane. At the speed which it flew the wax would not only melt but catch fire. Although this would look impressive, burning fuselage was never healthy for a lump of metal staying in the air by nothing more reliable than physics.  
  
The hangar was not a hangar at all, more like a sheltered mass freight elevator. From here the planes were transferred from the underground hangar to the runways. This was both a security measure and a safety precaution for the surrounding area. Some of the experimental planes that had been tested at this base had exploded in fairly spectacular fashion. Keeping the planes underground not only kept away prying eyes, but in the event of a serious malfunction the most the cities population would know about it would be a slight tremor in the ground. It could be called a flying station, but there was usually so much traffic in and out that no one plane could be kept on standby.  
  
Asuka and Hikari headed towards the small personnel elevator situated in a corner of the hangar. Usually people would ride with the cargo that was constantly being hauled up and down the freight elevator, but occasionally the wait for that would be too long. No-one liked the small personnel one. It was only four-foot across and four-foot wide. It was cramped and it was the favoured hunting grounds of perverts desperate for the occasional grope.  
  
There was a nervous corporal waiting for them by the lift. Hikari rolled her eyes as she saw Asuka prepare to acquaint another would-be-groper with her elbow and knee combo, a move which had put many men trying to become more familiar with her in the hospital.   
  
As they approached the nervous corporal threw up a salute, "Commander Sohryu!" he blurted out. Asuka smiled. Obviously news of the knee and elbow got around. He seemed to line up the words and fire them out as quickly as he could in an attempt to forestall any violence that might have otherwise been sent his way.  
  
"Easy corporal. What you want?"  
  
"Major Katsuragi wishes to see you straight away!"   
  
Asuka arched an eyebrow, "So she won't even let me get showered before seeing her?"  
  
Hikari nudged her, "Well, you were going straight down to the bar with me remember?"  
  
"It's the principal of the thing!"   
  
"Sure it is. Besides, you know Misato. Probably wants to take you to the bar herself."  
  
Asuka blinked. "You know, you're probably right. See you there later?"  
  
Hikari shook her head, "You and the major out drinking? I'd never get any work done. I'd better get your ride cleaned up and sorted out. God knows what you've been doing to my baby."  
  
Asuka made a face, "All right, see you later."  
  
Hikari walked away. "Uh huh, just make sure you pass out in your bunk tonight. I don't want to have to haul your drunk ass back to the barracks again," she threw over her shoulder.  
  
"I only ever did that once!"   
  
------------------------------------  
  
Shinji sighed as he popped open the cockpit canopy. He unstrapped himself from the restraints, and very carefully levered himself from the seat. He took a quick peek over the rim of the jet to the ground, scanning the area for his ground technicians. More specifically, the one leading the merry band of mechanics.   
  
The sortie he had just flown had earned his planes a nasty scratch right across the top of the plane. It was not even due to the fighting, it was the result of a misguided attempt at heroism. True, it had paid off, but the heavy black scores across the hull would earn him some unwanted attention from his lead mechanic.   
  
Tentatively he pushed himself out of the cockpit, and swung his legs over the side of the fuselage of his sleek purple jet. His was the test model for the concept interceptor, and as such, differed slightly from that flown by his commander, the ever proud Asuka Sohryu. Instead of curving back gracefully into a block of four thrust nozzles, his only had two larger ones. This left him with slightly less manoeuvrability than his current wingman, but gave him a greater thrust. It was also less prone to system failures, which is what they needed when they wanted to test system failures and their effects on these jets.  
  
He dropped down to the tarmac, landing in a crouch. He looked left. Just a few technicians idly checking the navigation systems in the nose cone. He looked right. A larger group of techs ripping a few parts out of the engines and replacing burnt out parts. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he had called in sick today, or was just busy somewhere els-  
  
"WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO MY PLANE!"  
  
Shinji lost in balance through the shock of someone yelling in his ear and fell forward, head connecting with the tarmac. Slightly dazed he twisted around on the floor to see the black haired giant that was Touji Suzahara. He was wearing whitish-grey mechanics overalls and an expression that told Shinji he should leave the area very quickly.  
  
"I'm sorr-"  
  
"Argh! Look at the paint work!" He said, instantly forgetting Shinji. He yelled to his minions, "You! Get the paint shop ready! You! I want you to get the-"  
  
Shinji very quietly rose from the ground and crept away from the large man whilst his attention was diverted. 'Maybe if I could just sneak off he'll cool down before he gets a chance to see me again.'   
  
"Where the hell did that idiot pilot go! Ah!" Shinji felt an arm grab him and spin him around. He looked up into Touji's grinning face. "And you my annoying little friend will be the one buying the drinks at the pub tonight. Care to argue?"  
  
Shinji idly considered debating the point, he had seen Touji drink the bar dry. He thought better of it, and nodded his head weakly. Touji slapped him on the back, "Don't look so glum Shinji, you just survived your first sortie against the enemy. And you get to make Kenny and me very happy buy getting us rat arsed tonight. Doesn't that make you feel good?"  
  
-------------------------------------------  
  
Asuka stamped down the corridor on her way to Misato's office. She used it a lot more nowadays, more paperwork piling up on her. It was not like the old days way back then where paper work was something that happened to other people. Now she had responsibilities. But the responsibilities came with a bigger pay check, so no one was complaining.  
  
Asuka came to a halt outside the Operations Director's door. It proudly stated this was the abode of Director of Operations Major Misato Katsuragi. She had been a major for just under a decade now, and she seemed unwilling to budge from that rank. She said it suited her more, but Asuka merely thought she was being an idiot. In her book anyone who turns down more than two promotions was just playing hard to get. And Misato was turning them down at a rate of three a month.  
  
She hammered on the door, not expecting a response until at least a minute later, giving Misato a few seconds to wake up from her nap, clear away the drool stained paper work and replace it with crisp clean sheets of unfilled forms. Asuka used this time to check herself over, then realised what a futile ask this was. The loose fitting g-suit she wore generally came out the locker wrinkled and stained with grease and sweat. Her hair was still a mess from the recent sortie, although she herself had only contributed a little to the kill itself. She sighed. That day was starting to go down hill rapidly.  
  
The major finally indicated that she could come in, by grunting a short 'Yes' in the direction of the door. Asuka breathed in and opened the door.   
  
A quick look around the office assured her that Misato was still Misato. A small pile of completed yet redundant forms was forming in the corner of the office, which itself was barely five metres wide and five metres deep. Her desk was uncovered though. Misato had gotten used to the storage method of 'let the floor be your filing cabinet' although she extended this general rule to both floor, wall, flower pot and even a portion of the ventilation duct was filled with a neat pile of papers. And, because even someone with so much paper work can have a few spare minutes, a neat little pyramid of used coffee and coke cans was being erected behind the desk, out of sight.  
  
The office was underground, and the only light was the pathetic desk lamp that Misato used to do paper work. There was a main light, but Misato pointed out that when the bulb went there was not enough light for her to find the light bulb replacement forms. As a result, the office was comfortably dark, with a yellowish glow emanating from the desk. It was the kind of lighting that was fitting with a roaring fire and a small dog, not the office of Synapse's Director of Operations.  
  
Asuka walked to a yard in front of the desk, coming to attention and tossing up a tired salute. "Commander Sohryu reporting!" she said in a crisp military fashion. Her expression changed to one of exhaustion, "What the hell d'you want Misato?" she said in a weary tone.  
  
Misato was seated in a well worn leather chair, he hands in the front of her face in the fashion adopted by any Synapse personnel who spent too much time with Gendo Ikari, her elbows resting on hastily withdrawn request forms. "We need to discuss your recent sortie Commander," she said in a dead tone.  
  
Asuka grimaced, "Can't it wait 'till tomorrow?"  
  
"No."  
  
"All right. Do you mind?" She asked, indicating with her free hand the salute she was still holding.  
  
Misato seemed to undergo a complete personality change. She smiled warmly and returned the salute, almost as sloppily as a cadet on his first day at the academy. "Sit, sit," she offered gesturing at the tattered fabric chair in front of the desk. Even in her office anything Misato had to look after did not stay in perfect nick for long. Asuka collapsed into the chair, the dilapidated piece of furniture idly creaking in protest.  
  
"Thanks Misato. Kinda weird that I feel like I need to sit down after several hours in a god damned cockpit."  
  
"Like I always say, you and Shinji need to get off your asses and find real jobs," Misato said, grinning and producing a bottle of whiskey from her desk. She poured a glass out for Asuka and handed it to her. "Here's to your fist victory, and kill I might add."  
  
"You know very well I was an ace before I rejoined the test pilot core. But, I'll take it all the same, cheers." She drained the glass in one gulp, Misato taking a pull from the bottle itself. She shook her head violently as the liquor traced it's fiery way down her throat. "So what you want Misato? Not just to get me drunk again, I hope," Asuka said, tilting her glass in a meaningful way towards the bottle.  
  
Misato lent forward and refilled the glass, "No, not right now anyways. It seems you made an impression on that RAF pilot."  
  
"Oh him."  
  
"Was he any good?"  
  
"Oh I dunno... still thinks like a newbie, but he had a few nice mov-" Asuka frowned. The faint tendrils of suspicion had worked their way into her mind "Why?"   
  
"Oh nothing important. Go on."  
  
"All right, but I don't think I like where this is going..."  
  
"That's the great thing about these," Misato said tapping the small sign on her desk, 'Director of Operations' proudly engraved into the brass, "You don't have to like it to answer."  
  
Asuka sighed, "All right. Well, he's no Shinji but he looked like a hot hand on the stick. Dog fighting with the Angelus group is pretty tough, even with our machines, and I was more than a little surprised to hear him on the radio when the target got taken down."  
  
"So you think he's good?"  
  
"Not saying that. Like I did say, he still thinks like a newbie pilot. At a guess I'd say he was top of his class, but has never faced any real action before. That was probably his first taste of combat."  
  
"Looks as though he liked it..." Misato said under her breath, looking at a few documents.  
  
Asuka raised an eyebrow, "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that in case it might upset me. I don't think the guy's even up to wonder girl's skill, let alone mine or Shinji's. I dunno, maybe with a little more experience he would be good enough to fly as a wingman."  
  
"So you don't think he's good?"  
  
Asuka sighed. "Look, I've flown the kind of plane he had when it was just a baby in the testing phase. He pulled off manoeuvres I didn't even think were possible with his crate, and I don't think he knew he could do it either. It's the way he flies, not willing to take something as impossible. That's dangerous for any pilot. But it'll mean he won't give up, even when he's out of fuel, both wings gone and going on nothing but a prayer."  
  
"You got that from barely five minutes worth of combat?"  
  
"He took on a far superior plane in a rusted out old shit box," Asuka responded flatly.  
  
"Good point. You know he put in a request for a transfer?"  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Here."  
  
Dead tone, "What?"  
  
"As in this branch of Synapse."  
  
"Already? It's only been an hour since we saw him set down... well, when Shinji dropped him on the runway."  
  
"Looks like he wants to pilot the Eva."  
  
"But he's not even with Synapse! It was pure luck that he found out about them in the first place!"  
  
Misato grinned, "Look, I know you like things the way they are, but we're still shy one pilot."  
  
"We're also lacking a plane Misato. You know what happened to Nagisa's."  
  
"There's one already being built in Germany."  
  
"When will it be finished?"  
  
"A few weeks."  
  
"He lacks training!"  
  
"We can train him."  
  
"All right. What combat experience has he had?"  
  
"Including your sortie? Then he's had one major dogfight."   
  
"He's a god damned rookie!"  
  
"So?"  
  
"So?! So?! You do not just give a green pilot a high performance semi-untested plane!"  
  
"Hope he's a fast learner..."  
  
"Are you trying to piss me off?!"  
  
"Yup. Working?"  
  
Asuka deflated. "Very much so." She sighed, "So when is he joining?"  
  
"Tomorrow."  
  
"All right, so what happens now?"  
  
"Well, we send the unit commander over to retrieve him and his plane."  
  
"God, I don't envy the person doing that."  
  
"You do realise that you're going to be his commander right?"  
  
"...bitch."  
  
Misato grinned, "Yeah. And I get paid more for it too."  
  
------------------------------------  
  
A/N: So ends the first chapter of the most original idea that's waltzed into my head. Technical advice on the various workings of any Flying Core organisation would be appreciated. 


End file.
